Space Clap
by dftreaper
Summary: Five times Jim Kirk gets a space STD and one time he doesn't. Jim/Bones.


**Written for the kimk meme prompt: **Kirk/McCoy Five Times Kirk Didn't Get into McCoy's Pants (and One Time He Did) or Five Times Kirk Caught a Space STD (and One Time He Didn't).

* * *

**_I_**

"Bones?" Jim called, poking his head around the old-fashioned door to McCoy's office. McCoy sighed, tossing the PADD onto his also old-fashioned desk.

"What, Jim?" He said, crossing his arms over his chest. Jim stepped into the room almost shyly, and McCoy narrowed his eyes. Jim reached up to rub the back of his neck, and McCoy saw a flash of green on Jim's palm.

McCoy stood up and walked around his desk, leaned on the corner, his eyebrow raised expectantly.

Jim grinned unabashedly, stuck out his hands, palms presented to McCoy, and had the nerve to look innocent and regretful at the same time. McCoy groaned, leaning forward to study the splotches of green. They had the faint outline of scales, and seemed to disappear up the sleeve of Jim's uniform.

"How far's it gone," McCoy asked gruffly, a little irritated and amused and exasperated that this was becoming a routine after every diplomatic mission, shore leave, or planetside away mission. McCoy was already turning to the cupboard that should have been labeled "The Cures And Painful Hypos For Jim Kirk's Long, Arduous, And Growing List Of STD's, Space Related Or Otherwise."

"Well, the thing is, Bones…" Jim said, and McCoy could hear the smile in his voice. He turned, and sure enough, plastered on his friends face was a slightly devious smirk.

"Strip," McCoy sighed. Jim laughed, "Why, Bones, I'm flattered." McCoy growled and turned back to the cabinet, hearing the slide of a zipper, and the rustle of fabric and rubber, probably meaning that Jim had disrobed completely. McCoy fought the urge to drop his head into his hands, and peer through his fingers at his best friend. He was a doctor, damnit, not a peeping Tom!

McCoy plucked a hypo from the shelf, and turned to face Jim. He gaped, seeing his friend in all his naked glory, hands on hips, looking a little smug. McCoy pulled his eyes away, and pretended to be put out, checking the spread of the green, scale-like discolouration.

It had in fact crept up his arms, going to the bend of his neck and shoulder, presumably going down his back, reappearing to blotch over Jim's lean hips and stomach, and down, climbing up the base of-God help him-his cock. He looked down, and saw the tips of Jim's toes were green, and the spread up his calves from the arches of his feet.

It had inched his way up his thighs, disappearing towards what McCoy imagined was a spectacularly shaped ass.

He gulped, and pulled his friend over to him by the arm, trying to focus on the fact that Jim had the Orion equivalent of the clap, and pushed Jim over the edge of his desk. McCoy took a second to admire that view, which was definitely spectacular, and, ignoring Jim's innuendoes roughly plunged the needle into the flesh of Jim's left cheek. Jim yelped and jerked forwards, Hand scrambling to find purchase on the lip of the desk.

"Oww, Bones!" Jim whined, standing upright and reaching behind himself. McCoy tossed the hypo into the waste bin, and turned to Jim.

"You don't have to be so mean, you know." Jim said, reaching for his clothes. McCoy smirked, and watched Jim dress from the corner of his eyes. His friend did so slowly, almost reluctantly. So much for not being a peeping tom…

**_II_**

When Jim walked into sickbay, McCoy was standing by a biobed, treating a mechanic for burns on his hands. The buzz of the dermal regenerator filled the room, and Jim's head pounded in tandem.

He shivered, finding that the _woosh_ of the automatic doors chilled him more than necessary. He wrapped his arms around himself tightly, wiping his sweaty palms on his sleeves, the material seeming to scrape his skin. His vision blurred and he squeezed his eyes shut, the muscles in his face protesting. He sat down on a stool beside the nearest bed and instantly felt so much better. His vertigo calmed, and though he still felt nauseous, his shivers dissipated and he let himself relax. He closed his eyes and waited for Bones to notice him, shifting to make himself comfortable.

He reflected on the grumbling he'd hear from Bones as he retrieved the proper hypo from the store, and the sadistic smile he put in place for Jim when he stuck him with said hypo. Then he remembered the reason he was here in the first place. He grinned widely, noting gleefully that his face no longer seemed to hurt. _Oh yeah, _he thought to himself,_ totally worth it._

His eyes popped open suddenly and he retched, doubling over. Bones kicked a bucket under his face just in time, and he proceeded to empty his stomach, no longer having to worry about the mess he would have made.

He sat back up, wiping at his mouth and felt a sense of vertigo. He leaned back, resting against the biobed and closed his eyes.

"Symptoms," McCoy demanded. Jim groaned, "Bones, have mercy…"

"Nope. You're not having mercy on my supply of hypos," Bones grouched. Jim smiled despite himself, and cracked an eye open. He was greeted pleasantly with a view of Bones bending down, face in the shelves, searching. Bones moved into a crouch, back straight, and Jim admired the clean jut of his shoulder blades, science blues hanging off him like a fabric compliment.

Bones dug a little more, and stood. Jim lamented the loss of his view of Bones' ass, and deeply regretted the reason Bones had straightened in the first place. He brandished a hypo, and Jim swallowed.

Bones approached in a way that Jim could only call sinister, and smirked at him. "Now then, Jimmy, those symptoms?" Bones demanded playfully. Jim glared, because he knew Bones knew full well what he had this time, but he decided to play along.

"Hmm…" Jim tapped his chin thoughtfully. "I'm feeling very lusty, almost _solely_ to doctors working on starships. CMO's especially." He said nonchalantly. He looked up at Bones through his lashes, and the doctor snorted, pressing the hypo to Jim's neck without warning.

Jim rubbed at his sore neck. "Mood killer," he grumbled. Bones snorted again and crossed his arms. "I think you getting _space AIDS _is more of a mood killer than I could ever be.

"Details, details…" Jim waved his hand in the air and stood, stumbling slightly, his hand went to Bones' chest for balance.

McCoy smirked.

III

McCoy waited, seated at his desk, wondering how long it would take Jim to show up this time. McCoy looked at the hypo on his desk, which he had taken out of the cupboard (now renamed the "Tools Used That Were Supposed To Make Jim Kirk Regret His Promiscuity And Frequent Trips To Dr. McCoy Needing To Be Cured Of Another STD, But Obviously Failed") earlier that day.

He was attempting to stay ahead of the game, and to his knowledge, there was a total of three diseases Kirk could have caught. He picked the vaccine for the most likely one. He hoped that he wasn't going to have to use it. But, McCoy wasn't an optimist, and knew his friend well enough to know that because he had sworn not to sleep with a crew member, Jim considered himself depraved. McCoy laughed at the thought.

So, McCoy wasn't surprised when Kirk walked through his office door without knocking, like he always does.

What he is surprised about is that Jim looks perfectly normal. Which rules out the disease he already had the hypo for. _Damnit, Jim. Why don't you have bruised eyelids?!_ He finds himself thinking. He then realizes his thought process is due to the fact that he now has to get out of his chair and go rummaging in the cupboard. McCoy then proceeds to feel old and lazy.

But now Jim is talking and McCoy can focus on his friend's mouth, and the parting of those soft lips, and the way they open wide to project Jim's voice when he is excited.

""You listening to me, Bones? I got a problem here." Jim snapped his fingers in McCoy's direction, and got a glare in answer.

"Damnit, Jim! I'm a doctor not a therapist!" McCoy replies gruffly, the snarky response almost automatic. Jim grins, and resumes telling McCoy about the four-McCoy's brain stutters for a moment (_four!_) before he remembers that he's talking to Jim Kirk-Deltan girls he met on this specific diplomatic mission-McCoy snorts. _Diplomatic, my ass._

McCoy then comprehends that he now has to search for a Deltan vaccine, and looks at the space beneath Jim's ear to confirm his suspicions. Nothing. The skin is clear (and probably really smooth, but McCoy will deny ever thinking suck a thing), which means that it can't be Deltan. He sighs and settles in to listen to the rest of whatever it is that Jim is saying, hoping to glean some sort of information of what Jim has managed to catch this time.

Finally, Jim starts to explain the side effects.

"Well, it's really swollen and orange. There's bumps all over too, like really big goose bumps. It's incredibly distracting, Bones." Jim says, sounding completely unruffled, but Bones knows without looking that Jim is pouting at him. McCoy sighs, because Jim has encountered the disease that he had the least chance of getting. It also happens to be one of the flat out weirdest ones McCoy had ever seen, because it appears only on one concentrated part of the body, which is different on everyone.

"How did you get something _Romulan_ if the girls were Deltan?" McCoy asks, incredulous.

Jim just shrugged and smiled widely, and McCoy tried to ignore the revelation-is it still a revelation if the thought occurs all the time?-that his friend's promiscuity knows no bounds.

He opened the cabinet, and looked around for the bright pink liquid of the needed cure. Plucking it off the shelf, he turned. "So. Where's it at?" McCoy asked, waffling between wanting to get Jim out of his office as quickly as possible and wanting to delay on sitting down and finishing his paperwork.

Jim grinned slyly, and his hands gravitated toward the clasp of his pants. McCoy's eyes widened. _While Romulan diseases are among the most easily spread and accepted by any race, the treatment can sometimes be difficult due to the fact that_ _the vaccines for Romulan sexually transmitted diseases must be administered as close to the affected site as possible, without overlapping onto the discoloured region… _

The sentence from McCoy's medical texts came back to him, and he hoped to God that Jim was not serious. But apparently Jim _was_ serious, because just at the moment that McCoy was about to tell Jim not to joke in a situation like this, because a space STD was serious, even if he knew Jim wouldn't believe him, Jim unbuttoned his pants. McCoy watched, feeling the flush crawl up his neck as Jim wriggled out of his pants and stood proudly, arms crossed over his chest. McCoy's first thought was that Jim wasn't wearing any underwear, but that was hardly surprising. His second though, however, was that Jim's currently-orange penis clashed horridly with the yellow-gold of his uniform. He then proceeded to have a third thought, which consisted of awe at the fact that Jim wad _walked_ down here, because McCoy knew that thing had to hurt, and he was starting to get empathy pains. He then held back the urge to slap himself, literally, and closed his eyes. He pushed back the thought that this image will _never leave his brain_, and stepped closer to his friend.

McCoy dropped to his knees, a little too willingly, he thought to himself, and came eye-level with his friend's cock. Resignedly, he reached out and pushed Jim's shirts out of the way. He heard Jim make a lewd comment somewhere along the lines of "well, hello there, Bonsey."

He ignores it in favour of focusing on the task at hand, and positions the needle of the hypo as close to Jim's orange base as he could. Jim still yelped when McCoy pressed the hypo to his skin as gently as he dared, because really, he's not _that_ mean.

McCoy stood back up, and deposited the hypo in the biohazard bag that he put there especially for Jim, who insisted that he not get STD vaccines in the main medbay room.

When Jim bent to pull his pants back up, McCoy stopped him with a hand.

"That'll be real sensitive for a while, Jim." McCoy disappeared around the corner, finally located the store where they kept the paper gowns, and returned to his office. He handed it to Jim, who smirked.

"How long is a while, Bones?" Jim asked, and because he had absolutely no shame, began to strip off his shirts one at a time. He slid the gown over his shoulders, and felt it seal together securely.

"Including now, at the most a day. But, knowing you, you'll go and get an allergic reaction, and that poor little guy'll have to be amputated. That could have _literally_ turned into crotch rot if I hadn't caught it when I did." McCoy hid his grin by turning around to close the cupboard. He could almost hear the blood drain from his friend's face and chuckled.

"Well, Bonsey, I guess you'll just have to kiss it and make it all better." Jim smirked back at him. McCoy rolled his eyes and smiled through the shot of desire that rocketed to his gut.

"You're on medical leave for your next two shifts, 'cause you're not walkin' onto the bridge in a hospital gown."

Jim looked pensive for a moment, before bending to gather his clothes, and McCoy most certainly did not look down the gap the thin fabric made, wondering when Jim had managed to change, and he certainly did not enjoy the little bit of his friend's (very nice) chest he was able to see.

"Right," Jim said. "Wouldn't want the whole crew being jealous of you, now, would we?" Jim smirked at him before turning to leave. McCoy was _not_ gaping after him, eyebrow raised, and he definitely did not sit down at his desk and pour himself some bourbon. He was still on duty, after all.

IV

Jim doesn't like getting STDs. Really, he doesn't. The only thing he loves about an STD is how he got it. In this case, though, he definitely does not like how he got it. Why did no one tell him that Cardassian women try to _eat_ their mates?

He was really not looking forward to going back to the ship like this, but with the chunk out of his shoulder _and_ the bright pink liquid that was oozing out of his bellybutton, Jim figured a visit to Bones was in proper order.

Jim stepped off the transporter pad, shirt bunched up and pressed over his naval. He smirked at Scotty, who was giving him a bemused look, and continued to sickbay, being careful not to move his right arm. He made sure to keep his injured shoulder close to the wall in hopes that his injury would not be jarred unnecessarily.

The few crew members he did pass were wide-eyed in awe or wanting, and Kirk wondered what he must look like. His hair was unkempt, and probably sticking up every which way, his pants were loose around his waist and snug around his thighs, hanging low on his hips, a chunk missing painfully from the meat on the top of his white shoulder, the pink of the substance leaking from his bellybutton and the blood from the wound mingling on the shirts he had pressed over his abdomen.

He looked down at his chest, and noticed that his nipples stood out at a slight peak, goose bumps pebbling lightly across his stomach. He smirked. _Oh yeah,_ he thought.

When he walked into sickbay, Bones was treating some redshirt from engineering for burns on his hand. Nasty ones, too, by the look of it. Davids, Jim thinks is the kid's name, and he saunters over to see the damage. He winced. The skin left on the boy's palm was thin and raw and red, the tan outer layers gone but for some fringe around the edge of his palm. He looked at the young-couldn't be older than twenty-one- ensign's face and watched for any reaction. None. Davids didn't even flinch when Bones blasted the burn with cold water, and his only indication of pain was the hiss when the dermal regenerator began replacing the epidermis.

Davids' eyes were focused on his lap and he appeared not to notice Jim.

"What happened, ensign?" Jim spoke up. The young man jerked up straight and looked at Jim, saluting him squarely. Jim smiled and gestured at Davids' hand. The ensign blushed but answered honestly, "I was working on engine seven. My feet tangled in the connection wires and I tripped. Instead of frying my face, I decided that the hand would be a better sacrifice." Kirk laughed and nodded.

"Once, I was fixing my bike. Tripped over myself and burnt myself elbow to wrist on the exhaust pipe." Jim chuckled and the ensign made a show of wincing. McCoy watched the exchange with a slight smile. The ensign didn't ask about the bite on Jim's shoulder or the receding flow of material from Jim's naval. Kirk plopped the shirts down on the biobed and wiped his hand on them.

Jim grinned and when the hum of the regenerator faded, Kirk clapped the young man on the back. "Davids, isn't it?" Kirk asked. The ensign looked ecstatic that his captain remembered his name and nodded. "Yes, sir. Nathan Davids."

"Well, Davids. You've got some impressive control, and I'm sure the work you're doing one E-seven is superb. Keep it up. We could use more men like you," Kirk laid a hand on his shoulder, and smiled. Davids looked overjoyed at his captain's praise and smiled brightly, then he snapped back to attention. "Thank you, captain." Davids saluted and after McCoy had cleared him for duty, turned and strode briskly out of sickbay.

Jim turned to Bones and found the doctor's eyes rooted to his stomach, most likely under the premise of staring at the pink…stuff that was oozing from him. Bones' eyes wandered over his chest, stuttering at his nipples, before moving to the bite on his shoulder. Bones scowled.

"Where were you when the xenobiology professor explicitly said not to mate with a Cardassian because they eat their mates?" McCoy asked, incredulous at the size and perfect roundness of the missing piece of flesh. Jim shrugged. "I was asleep. Just like all our other xeno classes." McCoy rolled his eyes and Jim heard him mutter about "Damn geniuses," and "repeat offenders," and "smug bastards." Jim grinned widely in Bones' direction. "Well, you know. I try."

Bones glowered at him but Jim just smiled toothily and motioned at the pink pooling around his boots and dripping down his legs. "You gonna help me, or what?"

"Nurse Chapel!" Bones called, tossing another glare Jim's way. Jim grinned.

"Yes, Doctor McCoy?" Nurse Chapel rounded the corner, drying her hands on a towel. She took one look at Kirk and rolled her eyes. Jim waved.

"I need that regenerator, quickly please," He flicked his eyes at Jim's shoulder and wondered how Jim could sit there and look for all the world as if nothing was wrong. Bones frowned and poked at the tender-looking skin around the bite. Jim wiggled away from him, wincing.

Jim looked up to see the nurse hurrying around the corner, the regenerator held in her hands.

"Thank you, Nurse Chapel," Bones gruffed. Jim chuckled, because that was just so _Bones,_ and watched the doctor power the machine on. It looked suspiciously like a blow-torch…

Bones looked up at him solemnly. "Jim," he said lowly. "This is going to hurt. Worse than the dermals. Much, much worse. Do you want me to pull the privacy curtain?" Bones sounded concerned. That made Jim nervous. _Fuck, this is really going to hurt._

Jim nods and sucks in a few deep breaths. Bones pulls the curtain around them. Jim is trying to relax his bitten shoulder, teeth grinding audibly as the missing muscles make themselves known. He clenched his other hand.

Bones touched him lightly on the arm and Jim looked up. Bones offered him a hand and Jim took it, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth, breathing deeply through his nose.

"I can't give you a sedative because it would act badly with the venom already in your blood." Bones explained, holding the machine over the wound. Without warning, a buzzing filled the room and Jim couldn't help the choppy scream that bubbled from his throat and hissed past his clenched lips and teeth. He closed his teeth harshly on his lip, biting easily through the soft skin. His hand flexed over Bones', and if his eyes weren't closed, he'd see the muscle cording in the doctor's arm.

He tried to keep breathing through his nose, and kept the noise locked in his chest. Heat spilled from the bite on his shoulder and he thought weakly that the venom must have had some kind of numbing toxin in it, because this hurt so much _more._

He felt the blood pool in his mouth, between his lip and his teeth, and drip down his chin. He imagined it mingling with the pink, swirling together.

Pain lanced up his shoulder, heading straight for his ear and pooling hotly in the hollow behind it.

He exhaled heavily, the pain dulling into a heavy warmth, and he was able to focus keenly on Bones' hand in his, squeezing tightly, a parody of an arm wrestling contest. His lip throbbed and his mouth and nose felt dry. He opened his eyes and was glad to feel no evidence of tears.

He released his lip, and the blood flowed more freely for a moment, before halting. He hadn't bitten too deep. Bones still held onto his hand, but his muscles were no longer corded. He was silent as Bones reached for the dermal regenerator that was still resting on the bed from Davids visit.

The prickly sting of new skin forming was a welcome reprieve, and when Bones had finished, after pausing to run the gadget over Jim's lip, the pain had settled to a minor ache, the skin of the newly healed injury tingling and sensitive.

Jim leaned back and squeezed Bones' hand reflexively. "Holy shit, Bones. That was fucking insane." Jim laughed, breath coming heavy. Bones shook his head and learned forward to inspect his work. Gentle, warm fingers touched gently around the skin, and Jim suppressed a shiver of delight. Bones let out a breath, the air ghosting over Jim's shoulder, and his fingers twitched in Bones' grip.

Bones leaned back, seemingly satisfied, and reached for the hypo that has magically appeared on the bedside table. Jim squeezes Bones' hand and makes a face, scrunching up his nose exaggeratedly.

Bones looks at him with a raised eyebrow and says, "I guess you'll think next time, now, won'tcha?"

Jim shrugs, "probably not." Then he smiles at Bones, who snorts. Jim yelps (in a very manly way, mind you) when Bones presses the hypo (unforgivingly) into his neck.

Jim pouts and huffs, crossing his arms, but he grins when the pain in his shoulder is only a twinge.

Bones rolls his eyes and looks down at the mess that seems to have finally stopped pouring from Jim's naval.

"You need a shower, kid." He says.

"Why, do I smell?" Jim jokes

"Only when you drink, Jim." Bones replies honestly (because, really, the only time he can ever remember Jim ever smelling_ bad_ is when the kid comes back from drinking too much alien liquor-McCoy quite likes the smell of Earth alcohol-, and even when Jim sweats, it's musky and strong, but McCoy kind of likes that too, and even when he bleeds his skin smells like him, the coppery tang in McCoy's nostrils can't take away from that, and by now McCoy's used to smelling blood).

Jim laughs loudly. "Good to know you pay attention, Bones," Jim teases.

Bones rolls his eyes and looks Jim over. "How're we gonna get you to a shower without you tracking sex goo all over the ship?"

Jim smirks before hopping of the bed and dropping his hands to the waist of his pants. He undoes them quickly, toeing off his boots and shimming out of his pants. The elastic of his Fleet issued underwear is soaked pink.

Jim steps out of his pants and pulls aside the privacy curtain, and smiles at the gaping nurses and patients. He saunters out of sickbay and turns left, heading for Bones' quarters. McCoy gapes after him but follows, grumbling.

V

McCoy stretches and yawns, putting the PADD down on his desk. He eyes his cot, but knows he has to get more paperwork done before he can even think about sleep. He groans and cracks his neck, pressing his hands over his eyes.

He gets up stretches again, huffing when his uniform shirt rides up his belly. Damn him and his workaholic habits, having no time to do laundry. He scowled and adjusted his shirt again. The damn thing was too small, hugging him more closely than he was used to, and inching up his stomach whenever he moved.

He stepped out of his office and into the main area of sickbay, and made his rounds, checking on the very, very few patients he had in his care-mostly from alcohol poisoning.

Jim was due back the next day, which means he had to get his paperwork finished and get some sleep if he wanted to even have a _hope_ of dealing with that smug (beautiful) asshole when he came back.

He did his rounds again, just because he wasn't too eager to sit back down at his desk and finish those reports.

Lieutenant Whatshisface and Ensign Whatsherface were having a baby and he had to finish filling out the report and get it in by tomorrow afternoon. _God_, he hated his job sometimes. Who even wanted to have a baby on a starship anyway?

He felt a pang and remembered Joanna, the conversation Jocelyn had cut short, and he sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. He shook his head and returned to his office, sitting heavily in his chair. Leonard sighed and leaned back, pulling the PADD beck to his face, filling in all the information Starfleet so tediously decided they needed to know. Time of Conception. Date of Conception. Sex. Progress. Days into the Pregnancy. Expected Remainder of the Pregnancy. Date of Departure. Expected Date of Birth.

Leonard set the PADD aside and looked at his cot again, debating if it was worth the effort to go back to his quarters tonight. He was still deciding when the doors to sickbay wooshed open and he looked up, ready to berate whoever decided to get hurt this late at night.

Jim wandered in, looking tired and bed headed, but no worse for wear. McCoy sighed. He stood and beckoned Jim through his open office door. Jim smiled at him lazily.

McCoy sat back down and looked at Jim expectantly, eyebrow cocked. Jim smiled sheepishly, raised his right hand, showing of the pale pink webbing growing between his fingers.

McCoy couldn't help smiling and rolling his eyes, because the person he had to have had sex with to get that particular disease is primarily water-dwelling, with the added bonus of tail fins. He shook his head, heaved himself from his chair, and rooted around in what is now called "The Vaccinations To Keep Jim Kirk From Dying Of A Space STD."

McCoy stood back up, hypo in hand. He took Jim's hand, palm up, and pressed the hypo into it. Jim sucked in a breath at the hissing sound.

"Quit bein' a baby," McCoy muttered. Jim stuck his tongue out at him, warranting an expertly-executed eye roll.

Jim yawned in response and rubbed absently at his hand. McCoy took in Jim's slumped appearance and the bruises forming on his arms and face. Leonard sighed. "Shirt off, Jim."

Jim complied but winced when he lifted his arms over his head. McCoy saw the beginnings of bruises over the left side of his ribs and shoulders. McCoy didn't even _want_ to know.

He sighed, poking at Jim and feeling around the edges of the bruising, nodding when the only reaction he got was a wince.

"Nothin's broken. You'll be fine in a day or two. No sudden twistin' though." McCoy said, accent thick with weariness.

Jim nodded and yawned, and McCoy's eyes weren't drawn to the stretch of Jim's pretty pink lips.

Leonard stopped the yawn trying to make its way out of his throat, and gestured to the cot in the corner. "Y'can share with me if you don't wanna go back to your room."

Jim nodded. "Sure. That'd be cool."

+I

This time, when Jim walks into sickbay, he's walking straight, and not slouching in tiredness, and there are no strange limps or colourations and he looks happy when he grins charmingly at Chapel.

So Leonard just sits back in his desk and pulls out the bourbon and the glasses and settles back, watching as Jim does his rounds, talking to the few awake sickbay inhabitants.

He smiles wistfully as he watches Jim walk from bed to bed, raising crew morale and spreading general cheer. He remembers sitting in his dad's little practice when he was a boy, watching a dark-haired, slightly burley David McCoy treat his wards with the patience and kindness expected from a good old fashioned Southern gentleman.

Leonard shook his head and smiled at himself indulgently.

"Sentimental old fool," Jim said from the doorway.

"My thoughts exactly," Leonard said. Jim smiles at him and pushes into the room, the door snapping shut behind him. He sprawls in the only other empty chair in the room, looking for all the world the exceedingly young man he is.

McCoy pours the bourbon and nudges a glass at Jim, who clinks the rims together. Jim smiles into his glass and rubs it between his palms. Leonard leans back in his chair and sips his bourbon, studying his friend's relaxed yet somehow anxious face.

The transition between the latest insane mission and upgrades at the closest spacedock has allowed everyone a bit of needed relief. It shows in the healthier flush of Jim's boyish-smooth skin, the relaxation around his mouth and eyes, which are shining an even brighter blue.

Leonard continued to nurse his drink and let his eyes trace over Jim's face, indulging in thoughts he normally chastises himself for having. His dark blond hair is feathering away from and into his face at the same time, and it looks _really_ soft. Speaking of, Jim's lips look soft and cushiony and pink and even more enticing when Jim's tongue sweeps out to mop up the taste of the replicated bourbon.

Jim has thick eyebrows, which are so perfectly shaped that Leonard wouldn't be surprised to find out if he plucks them, frame his eyes, complimenting the dark, average-length lashes and vivid irises. Jim looks up at him, then, and smiles blindingly.

"Well, aren't you chipper." Leonard groused, the effect ruined by the smile flirting at the corners of his mouth.

"Yeah. Y'know, life changing decisions will do that to a man." Jim grins. Leonard raises an eyebrow. "Life changing decisions." He mimics.

"Yeah. The kind that make you want to give up an entire aspect of your life," Jim pauses here and looks him dead in the eye before continuing, "Just to be with someone."

Leonard isn't sure where this is going, because there aren't many people Jim could be talking about. Jim could mean him- that he wants to give something up for _him_- or some nameless person who he hasn't heard jack shit about.

Leonard smiles and swallows down the rest of his bourbon and sets his glass on his desk. He folds his arms and sits back in his chair. "And what is this big change that you're makin', Jim?"

But Jim is already up, cup abandoned on the corner of his desk, and is making his way around the other side. He's smirking when he pushes Leonard's chair back and moves to lean back against the desk, standing between uniform-clad knees. Jim crosses his arms too, and looks down his nose at Bones.

Jim tilts his head down to his chest and takes a deep breath. When he looks back up at Leonard, his face is open and honest.

"_Monogamy_."

"That is a mighty big change there, Kirk." Leonard heaves himself up. "Didn't know you had it in you." He's smirking, eyes twinkling because, oh yeah, he knows exactly where this is going.

"I'm hurt, Bones. Woulda thought you'd know me better by now." Jim leaned in, his breath smelling like the cinnamon toothpaste he must have just used. Leonard grinned.

"Well, there's always room for improvement," Leonard says. Jim chuckles lowly, and wraps a strong arm around his neck.

Leonard leans down the rest of the way, pressing his smiling mouth to Jim's full one. He can feel Jim smile underneath him too, even as he feels his other arm curl around his back and his own wind tightly around Jim's waist.

Jim licks his lower lip and Leonard opens his mouth, puffing out a breath through his nose. Leonard retaliats, licking his way into Jim's mouth roughly and pressing him backwards. Jim moans delightedly and responds, sucking on the insistent tongue and sliding his hand down to press against Bones' lower back.

Leonard growls, hands coming to rest in the back pockets of Jim's definitely non-regulation jeans. He fervently thanks Starfleet for whipping him into shape and lifts Jim onto his desk, moving to stand between his thighs.

Leonard felt Jim hook his feet behind his knees and squeezes him forward. Leonard pulls away from Jim's lips-red and wet and full and good _Lord_-, opting to suck a line of bruises down Jim's throat.

Jim groans appreciatively, hitching his legs up around Leonard's hips and leaning back on a hand, the other still firmly around Leonard's neck.

Leonard slips his hands beneath Jim's shirts, the skin smooth and the muscles jumping, ticklish, he remembers, under his fingers.

"So, kid," Leonard says, sucking on the sharp jut of Jim's chin now, "Where d'you wanna do this?"

Jim grins.

* * *

**A/N: So, I'm thinking about doing a companion piece about the STD cupboard, because I couldn't work it into the last one(s). What do you guys think?**


End file.
